


Picture Book

by RichieBrook



Category: Arctic Monkeys, Last Shadow Puppets
Genre: Autumn, Boys In Love, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-09 04:17:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20847398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RichieBrook/pseuds/RichieBrook
Summary: It's a chilly Sunday morning and Miles and Alex go for a walk in the park together. Alex is bundled up in an oversized coat and Miles doesn’t know how to properly dress himself for autumn. They bicker about Alex’s penchant for taking artsy analogue photos.





	Picture Book

**Author's Note:**

> I tried my hand at writing some fluff. Will never not be nervous about posting stuff on here, and I hope it's alright!

Miles’ hands are tucked into the pockets of his faded jeans jacket. It’s a size too small on him and the hem of the anthracite zip-up hoodie he’s wearing peaks out from under it. He tugs the hood down low over his eyes, blinking against the light drizzle and the tiny water droplets landing in his eyelashes. He’s a bit cold – his ankles are bare above his loafers and his striped T-shirt is cut out a little too low to be comfortable – but they’ve only been outside for ten minutes or so and the last thing he wants to do is go back home. It’s a Sunday and they have the entire day to themselves, he and Alex. The sky is the same colour as his hoodie, yellow and orange leaves crackle under their feet and it’s _nice_ out. They don’t do this often enough.

Alex hooks his arm through his. This surprises Miles, but when he looks up to meet his eye Alex’s gaze is still fixed on the dirt road under their feet. Alex must notice Miles looking at him though, because he squeezes his arm and smiles at his feet. He’s calm and at ease, has been since he first arrived at Miles’ apartment a couple of weeks ago, and it makes Miles want to plant a kiss on his temple. He doesn’t, though. It’s surprising enough that Alex linked their arms. They’ve been together, properly together, for a couple of months now, but Alex doesn’t like being too affectionate when they’re not alone. Miles isn’t about to push him for more.

“You feel cold even through those layers. Told ya you should’ve worn yer coat.” Alex voice is warm like ground coffee. He’s bundled up in a long tweed overcoat that he took from the pile of free Celine clothing that Miles had sent to him a while ago. It looks good on him, but Miles felt obliged to pluck the flat cap he’s taken to wearing off his head before they left his apartment. Alex looks a little older than his years at the moment as a result of his post-tour exhaustion, but he’s been taking it easy, spending most of his free time at the tiny studio in Miles’s house, and Miles has decided that he’s definitely too young for the grandpa look. He has half a mind to hide the cap when they get back home.

Miles chuckles and squeezes his arm. “Sorry mum, but being a fashion icon comes at a price,” he says. “We don’t all get to walk around wearing fancy designer coats over our trackie bottoms and scabbed up Reeboks I’m afraid Al, luv.”

Alex looks up at that, arching a dark unkempt eyebrow, the corner of his lips twitching into a little smile. “Guilty as charged,” he admits, leaves crackling under his once white trainers as if to prove a point. “Good thing I’ve you to set me straight, eh?”

“Set you straight, huh?” A smile tugs on Miles’ lips. “I’m doing a lot of things, but I’ll never in a million years set ya straight, Al. No can do.” Alex smiles at that, too. He’s been smiling a lot lately. It makes Miles feel strangely proud.

“Good,” Alex hums. “Because sometimes I joost – it’s better sometimes when I can joost…” He looks up, then, and turns his head to press a quick peck to Miles’ cheekbone. “That. Best not set me straight. I’d be heartbroken.”

Miles can feel his cheeks heat up. “Trust me, babeh, no one’s setting anyone straight,” he chuckles. They pass a woman walking her dog, and he can feel Alex melt into his side, hiding. It makes his heart sink, even though he knows it’s not personal; Alex is private like that. Miles himself however wouldn’t be entirely averse to being seen walking through the park with a loved up Alex Turner pressed up against his side. And if he’s completely honest, there is a selfish, possessive part of him that would be more or less alright with seeing paparazzi photos of the two of them surface. Feeling bold, he tells Alex exactly that, but Alex just shrugs his shoulders. His grip on Miles’ arm is a little tighter than is comfortable now, but Miles hasn’t the heart to pull away. They walk some more and Alex buys them tea at a little kiosk at the heart of the park. He has to stride across a field of soaked grass to get there, but he doesn’t seem to mind and Miles waits dutifully on the path, his bare feet freezing in his Gucci loafers.

“Why would you want photos?” Alex asks when he returns, breaking the silence. Miles accepts a steaming cup of tea and nods his thanks, not wanting to interrupt when he knows there’s more Alex wants to say. He blows into it, enjoying the way the steam warms his face, and lets Alex hook his arm through his once more. They resume their walk.

“There’s plenty of photos of us around, Miles,” Alex continues. “But if it’s pictures you want I’ll happily shoot a couple with me Widelux. A few good ones, like. Proper photos. I mean, if it’s important to you like. It might be fun, come to think of it. You’ve got the face for it. Should’ave thought of it sooner, realleh.”

Miles huffs out a laugh at that. “I don’t want any of that artsy crap, Al. Why does everything always ‘ave to be so pretentious with ya?”

Alex shrugs his shoulders, clearly taken aback by the sudden force in Miles’ words. Miles pulls his hand out of his pocket and extends it to brush the rough material of Alex’s coat. The texture feels nice under the pads of his fingers. Alex makes a non-committal little sound as their arms unlink, but Miles takes his hand and entwines their fingers instead. Alex, raising both eyebrows, lets out a little “hm”, as if to say ‘that’s right, you’d better keep touching me’. It makes Miles smile.

“I don’t want artsy,” he repeats, calmer now. “No analogue photographs. No cryptic love songs and wordy metaphors. Just this.”

Alex laughs dryly. “What, you getting a cold because you’re a vain bastard and me almost pulling your arm out of its socket because you won’t walk close enough?”

Miles laughs. “Yeah. I could do without the cold and the shoulder injury, but yeah, basicalleh. You know damn well I didn’t mean I want staged analogue pictures of us when I mentioned photos of us leaking to gossip mags.”

“I know what you meant,” Alex mutters. “You meant somethin’ candid. Maybe even somethin’ raunchy. I don’t _want_ that, Miles.” He doesn’t sound like he finds it very funny. Miles doesn’t really think it’s funny either.

“Ya know, for someone who isn’t on social media you’re very – big on editing your image. Very careful about what you show to the rest of the world,” he muses.

“You’re saying I’m fake.” 

“I’m saying you’re extremeleh careful and over-aware of yer own image, love, and don’t even try telling me I’m wrong. You say you know what I mean when I say I’d like our pictures out there, but I really don’t think you do.”

Alex raises his styrofoam cup to his lips. He looks cosy and warm and _real_, bundled up in his oversized coat like that, his dark hair falling in front of his eyes as he sips his tea. Miles gives his hand a gentle little squeeze, even though Alex is holding onto him so tightly that it barely makes a difference.

Miles sighs. “I don’t think I’m sayin’ I’d _really_ want that to happen, to be blasted online or in magazines like tha’. I’m joost saying I wanna be real about this. I’m saying that in me mind, right, it’s _very _simple: You’re mine and I’m yours. And I know you’re extremely private, but I happen to be the kind of bloke who wants to shout this sort of thing from the rooftops. I want to be able to _tell _people that some of the new songs are about the love of me life, Al. And when I go into the studio tomorrow and Jamie asks me how I managed to catch a cold in the middle of recording the new album, I want to be able to be all smug and tell ‘im that I spent my Sunday morning ambling about the park with me partner.”

“Your partner.”

“Me boyfriend, me Alex. You get the point. I want to be able to tell him those things when he asks. And reyt now, I’m not getting the impression that you’d be too happy if I did that. And maybe it isn’t a good quality of mine that I want people to know you’re off the market, but that’s just how it is. I want people to know you’re with me.”

Alex squeezes Miles’ hand tightly in his own. “So what would it look like?” he wants to know, completely ignoring Miles’ words. And when Miles arches an eyebrow in question: “That photo of us. The photo that would surface on gossip sites like, what would it look like? Ideally? I wouldn’t want it to be vulgar.”

“But what if it were, babe? Think about it.” Miles caresses the back of Alex’s hand with his own. “I’m not saying all the world should know what you get up to in the bedroom, but – look, forget about it appearing places for a second. Wouldn’t ya want summat a bit more honest for a change? Summat that doesn’t have that vintage-y, staged look you like to go for? Summat that shows the lines in me face and me crooked teeth, and the way your hair sometimes does that weird flop when I run my fingers through it for too long?”

“You don’t _like_ the lines in your face and your crooked teeth, Miles.”

“But you do. I’d just like something straightforward, Al. None of that dreamy, unreal bullshit with your overpriced camera. I don’t see that when I think of us. I think of me ‘ands on either side of yer face as I go in for a kiss. I think of you pinned against the bedroom wall, all flushed and desperate like, in tight jeans that leave literalleh _nothin’_ to the imagination. Or me makin’ you coffee in the mornings wearin’ nothin’ but that leopard print robe you love to hate while you spin back and forth on one of the stools by the counter. Those are the kind of pictures that I like; that’s where we’re different, you and I.”

Alex is quiet for a while. He doesn’t let go of Miles’ hand, which is a good sign, but no words come out, either. Then again, Miles is used to that. He can deal with it. He drinks his tea and lets go of Alex’s hand for a second to zip up his hoodie, a half-hearted attempt to prevent the cold from creeping up on him. When he holds his hand out for him to take again, Alex clasps it in an iron grip, and Miles knows he’s trying to think of the right words. That’s okay. They have time. He pulls Alex with him onto a path that disappears under an archway of trees, granting them some more privacy.

“You say all that like I don’t have any pictures,” Alex blurts out, suddenly, as they disappear from sight under those trees. “You say that like all that’s in me head are images of you dressed impeccableh. You couldn’t be more wrong, Miles. I may be a little reserved, but you can bet your arse that I’ve pictures, too. Right ‘ere, joost like you do.” He raises the hand with the cup in it to his temple.

“Show me them,” Miles says and it isn’t a question, not really.

Alex sighs. “Yeah, alreyt,” he murmurs. He finishes his tea and tosses the cup into one of the bins lining the path. He untangles their fingers and manoeuvres Miles’ arm over his shoulders instead. Miles laughs, endeared, and puts his arm around him properly, squeezing him to his side.

“So. Pictures,” Alex says. “I’ve got pictures alreyt. Plenty of ‘em.” He hesitates. He reaches up and toys with Miles’ fingers for a bit, moving them and running his own fingers over the rings he’s wearing. Miles can sense his anxiety. It’s almost tangible in the crisp morning air. “Your ‘ands are ice cold,” Alex mutters, and Miles arches an eyebrow.

“Don’t chicken out. Pictures, Al, pretteh please.”

“Pictures.” Alex frowns. “Yeah. Pictures like - gettin’ to drink red wine sitting in your lap at night and havin’ you distract me with sticky kisses, the room dimly lit with those candles you found in the back of your kitchen cabinet, some movie playing in the background that we were never really planning on watchin’, anyway.” He smiles absently. He doesn’t look up to face Miles and Miles knows perfectly well that he’s nervous. Nervous to not be talking in metaphors. Nervous to not be taking staged photos. Miles knows how much effort it’s taking him to describe the mental image as matter-of-factly as possible, so he keeps quiet.

“…Or me losing track of time night after night and you tellin’ me over and over again that I’m more than welcome to stay another night as you’re drifting off, your eyes heavy and the duvet barely covering your chest. I like that.” Alex risks a smile and Miles squeezes his shoulder. “Or - the sight of the stack of me books on your nightstand. And the way things didn’t always work out in bed at the start and us just _laughing _about that together, tangled in a mess of sheets and limbs and sweat and lube.” He makes a face, clearly taken aback by that last description. But he’s not done. He’s on a roll now. “And the way you pushed me legs apart that very first time we did it like that. I felt horrified at the idea of you getting to see and feel those parts of me, like, and you wouldn’t stop giving me that fookin’ _look_. Can still feel the heat creep up me skin joost thinkin’ about it.” He laughs, ducking his head as Miles turns his to face him.

“Those the kind of pictures of us that you like, babeh?” Miles can’t help himself; he nuzzles Alex’s hair, slightly damp from the rain, and presses a brief barely-there kiss to the side of his head.

Alex shrugs. “Yeah. I could fill a metaphorical book with images like that.”

“They’re good ones,” Miles says, smiling. He’s not sure what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this. “See, we’re not picture perfect and that’s mega, Al. I love that for us. I’d like to see the entire book.”

Alex turns his head, angling for a kiss, which Miles happily provides him with. It might be the first proper kiss they’ve shared outside the confines of hotel rooms and their apartments. Alex slips his hand under the jeans jacket and rubs Miles’ hoodie-clad back absent-mindedly, mumbling something inaudible about him being freezing to the touch. “You know, I do get it, actualleh,” he adds, a little louder, and Miles gets another, lingering kiss. It’s the best feeling to be kissed like that, out in the open, especially without Alex nervously checking their surroundings first. He whimpers against Alex’s lips, and Alex answers the sound with a smile. He shrugs Miles’ arm off his shoulders and entwines their fingers once more. “And you’re wrong. About me not wanting people to know. I’m proud, too, for what it’s worth. I’m still wrapping me head around the fact that I’m the person who gets to be with ya and all. And if you want this –” He holds up their hands – “If you want this to become something people know about, I think I’m okay with that. I’m flattered that you’d want people to know I’m with you, Miles. Makes me feel all types of ways. But it makes me nervous, too.”

“Why’s that, la?”

Alex shakes his head, frowning. “It’s nice, this, all of it. Getting to just link me arm through yours. Getting to sit with ya on the sofa at night, the books on your nightstand, things not always working out in bed, things working out fookin’ phenomenally in bed. The imperfectness of it, like you said. It’s so fookin’ real, Miles, and that makes me happy. This is the most straightforward, uncomplicated relationship I’ve ever been in. I like that it’s all ours. That it’s completely private, like. I don’t want it to become part of an image I’ll shed next week, or next month. I want us to last.”

There’s a leaf stuck in his hair, and Miles plucks it out with a smile.

Alex bites his lip. “You can’t - please don’t wistfulleh hope for some fookin’ gossip journalist to put unflattering pictures of us in the Mail or the Mirror just so you can believe it’s real,” he scoffs. “Imagine that really happened, eh? It’d start leading its own life. Having photos out there, I mean. All photos imitate life; not just me pretentious Widelux ones. If photos of us snogging surfaced wherever, they’d be out there for people to interpret them how they see fit. And as much as I love tha’ when it comes to me songs, I don’t when it comes to me relationships. I don’t _want_ \- just don’t allow it to start living a life of its own, Miles, is what I’m saying. You’re the most straightforward person I know, so _be_ that guy. Put it into words if you want it to be out there. _Tell _people. Tell people that I love ya, by all means, but keep it real. It’s nice, this, all of it. I don’t want it to change.” He gestures wildly with his free hand, and Miles knows he means every word he just said.

“Are you sure you want me to do that?” Miles licks his lips. They feel cold. He takes another sip of his tea, which is now lukewarm and doesn’t do too great a job at warming him up. He clears his throat. “Because if I open up, and you know how vocal I can be, you’ll be asked about us too. What will you do then?”

Alex shrugs his shoulders. “I’ll tell them what I always say. That it’s private and that I’m not in the habit of discussing me love life during interviews.”

“Do you see why I’d have a problem with tha’, Al?”

Alex bites back a bashful smile. “What if I told them I’m not in the habit of discussing the love of me life during interviews?”

Miles squeezes his hand and sniggers. “See, that’s better. You're onto summat there.” He tosses his empty cup into the bin and tugs up zipper of his hoodie. It seemed so important to look good when they left, just in case people would see him out and about with Alex. He’d want them to know he’s doing right by him; he’d want them to see how _right _they look together. He feels like a bit of a hypocrite, telling Alex that he cares too much about how he comes across when Alex is the one walking next to him in an odd mish-mash - the designer coat, holey trackie bottoms and decades old shoes. Miles can't help but feel a little guilty for pushing him; he knows perfectly well that the sole reason Alex cares so much about his image is to protect this version of him right here.

“You look really good today,” he whispers in his ear, and Alex smiles. He probably doesn’t really believe Miles, but that’s alright.

Wordlessly, Alex slips their hands into his pocket, his thumb rubbing over the back of Miles’ cold hand. “We’re going home,” he announces. “Before you turn into an ice sculpture. I’ll draw us a hot bath, how about that?” He rubs his hand gently to warm it back up. Miles shivers, making Alex huff out a quiet little laugh.

“Do you want me coat, you absolute idiot?”

“Hmm.” Miles smiles. Despite all his reservations and insecurities Alex knows _exactly_ how to make him feel looked after. Miles watches him shrug off his coat unceremoniously, revealing the T-shirt Miles knows he slept in and a jeans jacket not unlike Miles’s. “There ya go, love,” he mutters warmly, not letting Miles put on the coat himself but wrapping it around his shoulders instead. Miles, suddenly unsure of what to say, slips his arms through the sleeves and buttons it. He knows the coat doesn’t suit him and it definitely doesn’t go with the look he was going for, but suddenly he doesn’t care. Suddenly it seems pointless that he spent half an hour in front of the mirror before they left the house. And he finds himself hoping that this - him wrapped up in Alex’s coat and Alex walking by his side wearing old Reeboks and trackie bottoms - is the sort of image that makes it to Alex’s mental picture book rather than the sort that makes it into the Daily Mail.

Alex kisses him when they emerge from under the arc of trees and Miles know he’s stepping out of his comfort zone just to prove to him that he’s really alright with this. “C’mon,” he says, leading Miles to the nearest gate. “Let’s go warm up at home. And if the bath doesn’t work, we’ll think of other ways.” And Miles can feel his own eyes spark at that, eager to find out what a pretty picture 'other ways' will make.


End file.
